Road Cruising

The moon loomed overhead, its round face stained an unusually deep shade of nectarine orange. Mist rolled off the wet asphalt, parting like the Red Sea in my high beams.  The low hum of my car’s engine and the soft static of the radio added to the feeling of silence.  I rolled along at 15 miles per hour, eyes darting to each crack in the pavement, every stick, every rock, every dark blotch of tar.  My foot was poised to slam on the breaks at the first sign of movement.  I was road cruising. 

Always stop for "snakes!"

If you have never searched for reptiles or amphibians, then road cruising likely has little meaning.  For a herpetologist, however, road cruising provides a chance to see some amazing things.  The warm, uniform surface of roads entices ectotherms to bask and makes them easier to spot.  Driving covers more ground in less time compared to hiking, increasing the chances of a reptillian encounter.  

Road cruising is, however, a double-edged sword.  One of the leading causes of reptile and amphibian mortality is from collisions with vehicles.  Herps are often too slow to escape speeding traffic resulting in the deaths of adults, juveniles, and hatchlings.  For threatened or endangered species, the effects of roads can be particularly devastating.  Animals that are not killed by the road are often isolated from other populations due to habitat fragmentation.  To make matters worse, misunderstood animals such as snakes are often intentionally hit by ignorant drivers. 

A northern ring-necked snake.

Given the right location and conditions, road cruising can be a fruitful pastime for any wildlife enthusiast.  With a little knowledge of the right habitat (and often the right weather), a herper can expect to see everything from salamanders to turtles, frogs, and snakes.  

I often spend my evenings driving back roads, searching new locations from residential areas to state forests.  Reptiles and amphibians are unpredictable; they could turn up anywhere.  For amphibians, rain is almost always necessary.  Early spring ushers in the breeding season for many frogs and salamanders.  During amphibian migrations, the number of animals on the road becomes so dense that road cruising is no longer an option.  

Snakes, on the other hand, like hot, humid nights (rain seems to keep them off the roads).  Turtles travel to lay eggs during the spring and can commonly be seen lumbering across busy roadways during the day.  Night, however, is the best time to search for most herps.  Cooler temperatures draw these cryptic creatures out of their hiding places to hunt or bask. 

Photo courtesy of Brad Prall.

When driving, I keep my speed between 15 and 20 mph—any faster and I risk fatally missing something.  Knowing what to look for helps immensely.  Learning the patterns and habits of native species can improve the chances of spotting them.  Being able to distinguish scales from leaves or sticks is also helpful.  I have lost count of the number of times I have stopped for branches, bungee chords, or old pieces of tire.  However, it is always better to mistake something for an animal than miss one when it is actually there.  

Some of my best trips searching for wildlife have been thanks to advice from others.  Fellow snake enthusiast Brad Prall informed me of a location where he had seen nine copperheads, a dead timber rattlesnake, and a black ratsnake during a single night of road cruising.  He graciously answered my questions and helped me set up a route for my search.   

On one brutally hot July day (reaching the mid-90s), I prepared to drive the two hours down to the location.  I was accompanied by my fellow field technicians Aspen Wilson and Tyler Stewart.  Aspen, a Plant Biology major, and Tyler, a Wildlife and Conservation major, were working for Garrett Sisson, tracking his animals during the summer field season.  Upon mention of Brad's nine copperheads, they eagerly agreed to join me. 

As we approached our destination, my GPS directed (in its robotic female voice),“turn left onto The Road.”  Three college students, searching for venomous snakes, in the woods, in the dark, on an unnamed road.  I chuckled at how foreboding this was going to sound.

The first snake of the night was a DOR—dead on road—rough greensnake.  I had never seen a live greensnake in the wild and was disappointed to find one crushed.  Dead or alive, it was a snake; we were in the right habitat.  I crept down the paved road, foot hovering over the brake.  We all sat hunched forward, awkwardly peering into the night, expecting to see a serpentine figure around every bend, just beyond the high beams.  

Aspen holding an American toad.

As we continued on our way, something little and fat lit up in my lights.  “Is that a toad?”  I asked.  “That’s a toad,” we all confirmed in unison.  I pulled the car to a quick stop and we all hopped out for a closer look.  As I began to usher the little amphibian off the road, something enormous snorted behind me.  My first thought was big dog.  “Horse!” cried Aspen.  As I spun around, my headlamp illuminated a fully grown chestnut-colored stallion.  I stood just inches from its pen, separated from the road by nothing more than a thin black wire.  We made a beeline for the vehicle.  Being alone in the dark with a startled horse—well, you get the idea.  

As we sped away, I laughed, “we are out here to find venomous snakes and a horse is the reason we are going to die.” 

Then we saw it.  A little more wiggly than a stick.  A little more reflective.  Three doors flung open at once.  We approached quickly but cautiously, not wanting to startle the snake into a retreat.  It was a little copperhead, about a foot in length.  Aspen gently placed a net over the snake, allowing it to curl up defensively.  A baby copperhead's head is almost comically too large for its skinny body.  The snake's round, jewel-like eyes looked up innocently as if to say, “Who?  Me?”  

As I knelt down to photograph the snake, another car pulled up behind ours.  “What is it?” called a voice.  “Copperhead!” I called back.  A man walked into the light; it was none other than Brad Prall himself.  “Oh excellent!  I’m so glad you guys found something!” he said enthusiastically. We promptly introduced ourselves and shook hands.  Brad had been cruising this site for years, and a nicer fellow you will not meet.  He eagerly told us of good roads we should check, and was thrilled to hear about the reptile research we were involved in.  

The temperature had dropped quicker than expected, but still remained in the 70s.  Brad decided to head home and return the following night, remarking “75 and humid is when we have the best luck, but you should still find some good stuff in the lower 70s.”  Enthusiastic and knowledgable people like Brad make it possible for young herpers like myself to discover new and exciting creatures.  I was glad to be able to thank him in person.

That night we found a total of five small copperheads, all around a foot in length (one was sadly DOR).  We also found a little ring-necked snake and an eastern garter snake.  It was by far the best luck I have ever had road cruising!  We left for home around midnight, anticipating returning to this spot in the near future.